


The Idiot's Guide to Flirting

by Violetwilson



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M, Fluff, ben is a Business Man, bookstore, he pulls it together though in the end, rey owns a bookstore, that is literally the entire plot, with almost no game
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-28
Updated: 2018-06-28
Packaged: 2019-05-29 23:55:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,227
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15084518
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Violetwilson/pseuds/Violetwilson
Summary: When he walked into that little bookstore, Ben Solo had no particular expectation of falling head over heels in love. Hell, he didn’t even believe in love until he looked into the eyes of the young woman standing behind the counter, and all at fucking once, Ben Solo is abeliever.“Can I help you?” she asks, and no way is he telling this pretty bookstore clerk that he came in for Amilyn Holdo’s pop-psych best seller, “Attachment Disorders and Rage in Adult Men.” No fucking way.





	The Idiot's Guide to Flirting

**Author's Note:**

  * For [PoetHrotsvitha](https://archiveofourown.org/users/PoetHrotsvitha/gifts).



The first time Ben goes into the bookstore, it’s only because he promised his mother that he’d read that stupid book about attachment therapy, because that’s the therapy that’s currently The Thing To Get.

And whatever, it’s not like he’s going to read it, but if he _happens_ to leave it out on his counter the next time Leia comes over for dinner, maybe she’ll finally leave him alone about it.

So when he first walks in to the little bookstore, he has no particular expectation of falling head over heels in love. Hell, he didn’t even believe in love, but then he looks up from his phone into the eyes of a young woman standing behind the counter, and all at fucking once, Ben Solo is a _believer_.

He has the impression of a smile that stretches as wide as her face, a pair of eyes squinted by the force of her sunny grin, and blunt brown bob ghosting the top of her cardiganed shoulders, and then his brain short-circuits.

He could pick flaws if he applied himself. He could find a flaw there, he’s sure. But there’s no point, because her smile hits him in the gut like she’s struck him with a damn 2x4, and his hand falls to his hip and he’s forgotten his damn name, let alone how he’s supposed to respond to the polite question she’s just asked him.

He knows it’s a question because it inflects up at the end. Like her smile. Like her nose.

“Sorry,” he says, because he has to say something.

She tilts her head to one side, and his brain succeeds in translating the pretty noises she makes into actual human speech.

“Can I help you?”

Her tone is patient. This must not be the first time someone has walked into her store and been struck by lighting just looking at her. She has to be _used_ to this.

She’s repeated herself and for the love of god, he’s not going to make her repeat herself a third time.

“I’m looking for a book,” he says. _Genius, Ben._

And she nods, which is benevolent of her because of course he’s looking for a fucking book, this is a book store.

“Sure, which one?” She says, and holds his gaze. Her voice is bright and coppery.

And all he can think about is that he like that she waits for him to answer, that she doesn’t immediately look down at her computer and wait to look it up. She asks the question like it’s a real question.

And he’s not a sociopath, he knows she’s just doing her job, not flirting with him. But no way is he telling this pretty bookstore clerk that he came in for Amilyn Holdo’s pop-psych best seller, “Attachment Disorders and Rage in Adult Men,” no _fucking_ way.

“Flowers,” he says, because he has to say something, and she’s wearing a necklace with a little flower around her neck.

She brightens. “We have a bunch of books on flowers. What kind of flower are you interested in?’

“...Pretty ones,” he says.

She squints slightly, tilting her chin up in a thoughtful, pert kind of way.

“Hm, that doesn’t narrow it down much. Come on, I’ll have to show you.”

And she breezes out from behind the counter, exposing a pair of brightly colored leggings covering a pair of long, toned legs. He can only follow her, bewildered and entranced, as she strides down the aisle picking out books for him. She glances back at him with that pretty tilt to her pretty mouth.

“We can start with these, but they're are all over the place. The aisles are narrow, so don’t lose me,” she instructs him.

His mouth is dry. “Okay, I won’t.”

X

The second time he comes back, he has a better excuse.

The bell rings, the door opens, and there she is. The shop clerk girl. Her smile is there too, bright, relentlessly bright.

“Oh, you’re back,” she says. “What is it this time, Mr. Gardener? More flower books?”

“No, actually, I was looking for something else,” he says.

_Your phone number. I want your phone number._

She waits expectantly, but his brain is giving him nothing to work with, because he’s just now noticing that she’s wearing some kind of shiny eye shadow today, and her lashes are a kind of soot black, and when she blinks they touch her cheekbones.

And fuck, he’s lost his train of thought.

“Cat…care,” he says.

It’s like someone upped the wattage to her smile. She _beams_ at him.

“You have a cat?” she says, and her cheeks go pink and happy, like this is the best damn thing she’s ever heard. It’s so cute he’s going to fucking die.

She leans forward across the counter. “I love cats.”

“Me too,” he parrots.

“What’s your cat’s name?” She says.

All he can think about is Hux.

“Armitage,” he blurts.

She blinks. “Is that… British?”

“Yeah, he’s an import,” Ben mutters, rubbing his neck. Then, finally, an idea hits him. “Oh, sorry, what’s your name?”

“I’m Rey,” she says. And she’s crossing around the counter again, today in a long skirt that swishes around her ankles.

“Rey what?” He says.

She clears the counter and flashes him a smile.

“Just Rey.”

“A mononym? Like Cher?”

Fuck, he’s so bad at this.

She hesitates. “I’m reinventing myself. Haven’t come up with a last name yet.”

“So…just Rey?”

“For now. It’s in development,” Rey says. “Kind of foraging out on my own.”

“Are you taking suggestions?”

She looks thoughtful, tapping a finger against her lip.

“Sure, why not. You seem intelligent. What’ve you got?”

“Solo,” he says. Hell. She can have it.

“Rey Solo?” She says, like she’s trying it on. She repeats it. “Rey Solo. Rey Solo.” Then she laughs that bell-peal laugh again. “I don’t know, not sure if it suits.”

Then she walks down the aisle again, beckoning for him to follow, and he is helpless.

“Well, I like it,” he murmurs.

X

The third time, it is raining, and he doesn’t really have time for this, not even close. But he’d been in the area and his day had been shit, and her little shop is gleaming like a scene from a Christmas card.

One second he’s telling himself to walk past, to just get to the subway station and quit being fucking weird, and the next he is crossing the street and pushing the door open.

She brightens. “Oh, it’s you. Mr-“

“Ben. My name is Ben,” he blurts, the door swinging shut behind him.

“Ben,” she says. Rolling it around on her tongue. “You don’t look like a Ben.”

“What do I look like?”

She leans forward, elbows out and her chin jutting straight forward.

“You look like a pirate,” she says. With finality. With seriousness.

He runs a hand through his hair. “Ah, sweaty and… disheveled?”

She straightens. “Nah, brave. Rough around the edges.”

And he straightens up too, because the compliment warms, and she’s smiling at him.

“Ben,” she repeats. Once more for good measure.

“Hi,” he adds, because he cannot think of anything else to say.

“What are you looking for today?” she prods, after a second of pause elapses. She clears her throat and god damn it, she’s blushing a little, fiddling with her hands on the countertop, inching them just slightly closer to him.

“To be honest, I have no idea,” he rasps.

Rey nods. “But you know you need something?”

He nods, looking at the gentle dip of her collar bone, the friendly chocolate color of her eyes. There’s a faint smell to her, something distinct from the bookstore smells. Cinnamon?

She leans her head against her palm. “Right, well, tell me about your day first. Then we can decide what you need.”

He swallows. When was the last time he told someone about himself?

“I was in meetings all morning. My colleague was being a dick.”

“How?” She asks him, quick and sharp. “A dick how?”

Ben smiles, remembering. “He was trying to make me look bad in front of our boss.”

“Did it work?” She asks. And sounds interested.

Ben grins. “No, it didn’t.”

Rey nods, not looking surprised at all, and he’s surprised by how nice that feels.

She raises one brow. “Think he’ll retaliate?”

She’s beguiling, but utterly guileless. It’s fucking indecent.

“He’ll try,” he says.

Rey stands back up, crosses around the counter, and makes for the bookshelves. “I know what you need.”

He trails after. “What?”

Her grin is impish. Fairy like. “How to Win Friends and Influence People.”

X

The fourth time starts like all of them: heart in his ears, door opening, counter, bright eyes.

But this time is different, inexpressibly different, because the smile that meets his is hesitant, a little forced. Her eyes are glassy with unshed tears, and she brushes the back of her hands across her eyes like she can hide them from him.

“Oh,” he says, taken aback by this vision of her.

“Hey,” she says, too brightly. “How’s it going, Ben?”

“Fine,” he says, which was true ten minutes ago but is suddenly not. He has a sudden burning want to crack her open, figure out what makes her tick, what’s on her mind, why she’s upset.

The word just hangs there between them for a second, and she doesn’t pick it up. Her bottom lip trembles as she struggles to hold her smile, and one, two, three seconds of this madness pass before he takes a step forward and says,

“Hey, what’s-”

She bursts into tears.

He stands there as she hiccups and cries, her tears leaving wet stains down her cheeks even as she furiously brushes them away. He pats his pockets like he’s looking for a handkerchief, but of course he doesn’t have one, he’s not an 18th century nobleman, so he shoves his hands in his pockets and wishes he could hug her.

“S-sorry,” she says, waving her hand in the air. “I’m so sorry.”

“No, no, it’s okay,” he says, and wants to say, _I would do anything to make you feel better_ but instead just says, “What’s wrong?”

“Oh, just, it’s the anniversary of my grandfather’s death. This was his shop.”

He understands. “Oh, god, I’m sorry. When did he die?”

She looks down at her hand. “A year ago.”

“Oh shit, so recent,” he says. And then regrets it, because is that something a helpful person would say? No.

But she smiles a real smile this time. “Yeah, you know, it was. It feels like forever, but it’s...it hasn’t been. I forget that sometimes. Finn said I should take today off, but you know, it helps me to keep busy so-”

He latches onto this, ignoring the sudden burning questions in his head (who the hell is _Finn?)_ because he needs to make her feel better. This whole situation where she’s sad? Intolerable. Just…the worst. And she has just given him concrete evidence that there is something in his power that he can do to help.

He blurts it out. “Rey, I need books.”

His tone must surprise her, because she looks up, eyes widening.

“Sorry?”

“I need so many books, Rey, you’ve got no idea.”

“Wha-”

“Time is a factor,” he adds, because he knows about being busy. About drowning yourself in something so you forget everything else. A deadline is a friend.

She straightens. Maybe she sees through him and maybe she doesn’t, but it doesn’t matter because she wipes her tears again and nods very seriously.

“Where should we start?

“Fencing, obviously,” he says.

She nods. “Of course, fencing. Right. I have fencing books. What else?”

“The... care and keeping of pipe organs, and then- christ, uh, newspaper magnates of the 19th century. I need a chronological reference.”

She blinks at him, pushing a few more tears over the edge. But she’s laughing a little.

“Naturally.”

It comes more quickly now.

“Then, French political philosophy, and like, Greco-Roman chess strategies.”

She’s half-smiling, and he’s riding a sudden full-body high because he’s _helping._

“And then what?”

“Then dinner.”

She blinks. “Dinner books?”

“No, actual dinner. I was thinking this place around the corner. Do you like burgers?”

“You want me to… get you dinner?”

“No, I was sort of thinking I could get it for you.”

It just slips out. The first smooth thing he's said to this woman in his entire life, and she's just staring at him, and he has one second of total panic. And then that wide, toothy smile grows on her face and it’s like the goddamn sun has come out. She wipes a last tear off her cheek.

“You do this for every girl you see crying?”

“No, just you.”

She rubs her eye, one unpainted finger wiping black smudges under her lashes, which makes her look sort of punk rock and more than a little hot. 

“Store closes in an hour,” she says, smiling. "I can get your books ready for you. Pick me up?" 

“Perfect,” he says. He’s never really asked a girl out like this, but he remembers how it's done. “Do you like flowers?”

She snorts a little laugh. “Yeah, I do.”

“What kind?”

Her smile turns a little teasing.

“Oh, you know, pretty ones.

**Author's Note:**

> The whole concept for this oneshot comes from the incredibly talented [thepoetdraws](https://thepoetdraws.tumblr.com/)/ [PoetHrotsvitha's](https://archiveofourown.org/users/PoetHrotsvitha/pseuds/PoetHrotsvitha) drawing, [which you can see here!](https://thepoetdraws.tumblr.com/post/173579109473/thepoetdraws-thepoetdraws-whats-this) I was so charmed by it that I wrote this oneshot for it. She was generous enough to let me steal her idea! Please go check out her stuff, her fics and her art are so great.  
> Also, huge thanks to [Christine](https://archiveofourown.org/users/lifeofsnark) for reading this and being so nice. 
> 
> Chatter and memes on [my Tumblr](https://violetwilson.tumblr.com) and [my Twitter.](https://twitter.com/viwiwrites)
> 
> Thank you so much to anyone who leaves feedback! Your kudos and comments mean so much ;D


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